


Grand Prize

by WeightlessBird



Category: The Walking Dead: Road To Survival (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 12:49:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21410461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeightlessBird/pseuds/WeightlessBird





	Grand Prize

This is what happens, now: Another Friday at the Haunt, and it's too early to call it a night and too late to go out, so Clementine invites Violet back to the apartment. AJ's out, so it's just Clementine and Violet on the couch, side by side. 

The movie is some dull creature feature that Clementine can barely remember the name of, can barely remember why she's supposed to care about the blonde woman screaming on-screen. 

She's sitting close to Violet under a pilling red blanket, their thighs brushing. Her foot taps— almost against her will, unaware of it, toes sliding off Violet's ankle.

Violet crosses her legs and scoots closer. Thigh to thigh, now. Arms touching, holding hands under the warmth of the blanket.

"So. This movie is absolute shit. Want to make out instead?" Clementine asks, words loose like an arrow— impossible to take back now, can only move forward, forward. Momentum in motion, bite down on the risk. No danger, no glory.

"Damn, I thought I was going to have to do the old 'yawn and stretch' routine!" Violet laughs, twisting sideways into a kiss. 

Their noses bump, giggling, and Clementine bites too hard at Violet's lip, but she kisses a soft apology after Violet yelps. Violet buries her hand in Clementine's hair, nails raking her scalp, and nuzzles at the soft line of skin below the jaw, licking the tendon running down her neck, and Clementine lets out a gasp as she scrabbles for purchase, instead knotting her fist into the back of Violet's shirt, swinging a leg over to straddle her lap.

Clementine sucks her teeth, a sharp hitch of breath as Violet tugs her hair, and the other woman pauses.

"Clem? Is this okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. More than okay. Feels good."

Violet chuckles, breath warm on Clementine's neck. "Okay. Good to know. You like hair-pulling, biting..."

"Spanking, a little rough and tumble. A little push and pull."

"Mm. For the record, I don't. Like hair-pulling, I mean," Violet adds, thumb scratching along Clementine's scalp, a sweet line of friction that makes Clementine's toes curl. "Otherwise, I give as good as I get. But so far, you're all pull and not much push..."

Clementine growls, both hands on Violet's shoulders, pushing her into the couch cushions. The blanket's wound between them like spaghetti on a fork, an awkward wad of muffling softness before Violet yanks it aside, and oh, but oh, they're close now, belly to belly and jeans sliding over one another, warmth and radiant heat. 

Clementine grips her knees tight on Violet, clamping on and grinding down as Violet sucks behind her ear, all soft lips and warm tongue and a scrape of teeth.

"You want to fuck my thigh, or get naked?"

"Who says we can't do both?" Clementine challenges, peeling her shirt off with one hand. She snaps it in the air, tossing it over the back of the couch as Violet balks.

"Here? What if AJ...?"

"Nah, AJ's in London for an interdisciplinary conference. Something about comparative studies between Muggle cryptozoology and magizoology. He'll be gone all weekend." Clementine pulls off her sports bra, lobs it over the couch to hit the rug in soft whumpf of cloth.

Violet snorts, cupping Clementine’s breast to pinch the nipple, rolling it between thumb and forefinger and giving a gentle tug— too gentle, Clementine folds her hand over Violet's and presses until it's hard enough to make her breath hiss between her teeth— and mouth seeking the other breast, lips wet and teeth crimping flesh, pink areola hardening to dusky rose as Clementine groans, a full-body flush that splotches color down her face and neck, dripping across her chest as she ruts against Violet's thigh, the thick flex of muscle and glory and heat and flesh and she comes with a whimper, a soft mewl she hates even as it dredges itself across her lips, because it's small, weak, soft, and Clementine has never wanted to be any of those things. 

When she pulls back, eyes hazy, it's to find a knowing answer in Violet's gaze, some shared understanding in the depths of those brown eyes, and Clementine lets out a stuttering breath she hadn't even known she was holding.

"You're gorgeous when you cum," murmurs Violet.

Clementine laughs, bright-flash confidence over the rattle-shake of her lungs. "And you're gorgeous always. C'mon, take your pants off."

Clementine has to roll off Violet's lap so Violet can hitch her jeans, tugging the denims past her hips and wriggling to get them past the swell of her calves. Clementine slides to a kneeling position on the floor so she can help pull them off the rest of the way, then tugs so Violet's panties follow suit. 

They're black with little white ribbons, not as ridiculously fragile as the lingerie in the back of the Witch Weekly catalogue, but definitely nicer than the boxers that Clementine wears most days.

"Dressed up for me?" Clementine asks hopefully.

Violet laughs, cupping Clementine's cheek. Her thumb traces Clementine's face, whispers down her cheek. "Sometimes I like to feel pretty. Wasn't just for you."

"I'll still take it," Clementine says, decisively, and Violet's laughter rings her ears as she settles between Violet's legs. 

She kisses Violet's belly, her thighs, every line and striation of skin where her jeans crinkled her skin, where her elastics crimped flesh. Buries her nose in the soft locks of Violet's pubic hair, breath tickling skin before she sets her thumbs on each side of Violet's cunt and gently tugs, releasing warmth and musk in a near-tangible hit. 

Violet's thighs flex, belly tight as she shifts, adjusting position on the ratty couch, and Clementine lets her settle before starting with an open-mouthed kiss to Violet's vulva, her lips warm and tongue soft in gentle exploration.

Violet moans, one hand gripping the cushion and the other in Clementine's hair, nails scraping, but ah but it's better like this, following Violet's lead as she groans, grips, shifts. 

Clementine follows with her mouth and tongue, gentle swirls and laps and tasting Violet to the core, broad strokes of her tongue in soft patterns, circling in as Violet grips tight, tight, tighter, and Clementine folds her lips in a hard line over the clit, sucks hard with tongue and mouth as Violet hooks a knee over her shoulder, grinding onto Clementine's face and she screams, groans, a half-choked thing that thrills down Clementine's spine like chain lightning and Clementine keeps going, going, mouth wet, tongue hard, until—

"Stop, stop," Violet gasps. Relaxed, boneless, hand limp on Clementine's head as Clementine disengages. She lolls back, eyes shut, lips parted, breathing heavy.

Clementine stands up, grabbing her shirt off the back of the couch to blot her mouth and chin. "Too much?"

"Yeah. Too much. Good, but too much," she clarifies. "One, maybe two. Then everything shuts down."

Clementine nods, then remembers Violet can't see it. "Okay. Want to just sit and cuddle, then? Mum sent a cherry cake, if you want some."

"Yeah, that's good."

-

Clementine makes peppermint tea for AJ and tucks him into bed, blue and silver comforter drawn up under his chin, then retreats to her room with Violet. Violet casts Muffliato, and Clementine waggles her eyebrows, shucking off her robes.

"Planning to get loud?"

Violet crosses her arms, scowling. "That was stupid, Clementine. Deliberately crashing into another player?"

"I didn't, and it worked," Clementine argues, and this is just as much part and parcel of playing and fighting and fucking the same person all at the same time, carrying on arguments hours after the fact, like heavy stones in their pockets unready to skip.

"Why do you have to be so stubborn?" Violet growls, but her robes have already hit the floor, and she's stripping down like it's a race, a competition.

"And why do you always have to be right?" Clementine counters, taking Violet by the shoulders. She pushes Violet to the bed, but Violet grabs her wrists and yanks Clementine on top of her, then rolls sideways to straddle Clementine's hips.

Clementine thrashes against Violet, bucking her hips and bouncing to make the bed groan, the frame sway. Violet twists a hand into her hair, nails raking the scalp, and lowers her mouth to gnaw the hollow of Clementine's neck, the triangle between tendon and collarbone. 

Her teeth carve flesh, hands raking across Clementine's body as Clementine bites back, claws a hand across Violet's shoulders and screams. They play hard, fuck hard, strip each other down to meat and flesh and raw need. Clementine's loses sequence in a mess of sensation, her world narrowed hard and red— 

Violet's teeth at her neck, the rough slide of Violet's fingers between her legs, her own pained whimper as she digs her heels in the bed, the comforter damp and scratchy under her back, under layers of salt and sweat and slick as she shoves herself onto Violet's fingers, screams, screams, screams—

When she collapses, limp and boneless, panting like she's been running sprints— and maybe she has, up and down, steeple-chases against her own orgasm— Violet slaps her arse and huffs, "My turn."

Clementine sprawls back on her pillow, placing two fingers in a V and sticking her tongue between them.

Violet rolls her eyes and kneels across Clementine's face. She grabs the headboard for balance, wincing as it thumps the wall, but Clementine wriggles into position and buries herself in Violet’s thighs.

The thrill of victory adds an extra edge, a special tartness that Clementine might just be imagining from her own post-victory high. She squeezes Violet's hips, dragging her tongue through the open folds of Violet's cunt. 

This is her world, forehead pressed beneath Violet's belly, the weight and warmth of Violet's thighs all around her, an all-surrounding embrace of flesh and want, a near-smother in Violet's body as she sucks and licks and tugs, using just a hint of teeth as Violet grinds down, down, down, the blood pounding Clementine's ears and her face red-red-warm and her lungs just might burst at this point, she might have to tap out and beg Violet for air, but Violet finally comes with a cry and throws herself off Clementine's face, a skewed-angle sprawl with their sweat still cooling, but Clementine takes that first breath of blessed air and laughs with relief and joy all in one.

"Holy hell, I thought you were about to murder me. For real," she wheezes.

Violet groans, thumping the pillow. "Death by sex? Worse ways to go."

-

"Oh fuck, I'm so proud of you," Clementine groans, breathless, thighs crushed between Violet's as they half-stumble, half-maul one another on their way to the bedroom. 

Clementine kicks off one boot, then the other, leaves a tell-tale trail as they lurch through the door, one sock haphazardly dangling over the handle before slamming shut behind them. 

Violet kisses back, heady and fierce, lips a rough chafe of teeth and gin, something harsh and herbal and ineffably sweet all at once, fingers threaded in the back of Clementine's bun and tugging it loose. "You're more than magic, you're amazing, you're a fucking goddess—"

"Clem, if it was you, I'd be just as happy—" Violet mumbles, words tangled in long sighs and a breathless moan, almost ripping the buttons off her bathrobes as she yanks herself loose.

"You deserve this. This wasn't about winning, this was about— about how amazing you are, how fit, how fierce, how wonderful, now I get to see your face on every Firebolt poster—" Clementine trails kisses down Violet's neck, slips two fingers under her sports bra and pushes up to expose the swell of breast, circles her tongue around the areola and wraps her lips around the nipple, tugging into her mouth and lavishing warmth with every swipe of her tongue.

Violet shivers, gooseflesh prickling over her bare skin, and pulls down her panties, starts to undo her boots but the still-clothed Clementine groans, "No, no, leave it," and Violet settles back instead, two pillows under her head and a third under her arse as Clementine kisses her neck again, teeth gentle against her throat.

"Violet, I just want to worship you right now. Slow and patient, all the ways you deserve it," Clementine breathes. 

Kneeling between Violet's thighs, benedictions on her lips, hands spread like wings of prayer— all the ways that Violet has blessed her life, all the ways that Clementine can return it, with skin and sex, and Violet nods, once, decisive, so Clementine takes her time. 

Uses tiny nibbles of her lips to tease the skin, flicks her tongue and blows across the tip of each rosy nipple, alternates cool breath and warm tongue with single-minded resolution as she works her way down. 

Violet's sternum, smooth and warm, the heart drumming under bone— the smooth rungs of her ribs, where Clementine dips her fingers, imagines climbing, descending, going ever closer to Violet's center— the jump of muscle in her belly, hard-shelled abdomen under Clementine's soft skin— the swell of belly, pubis, fine hairs trailing to the lush patch of Violet's pubic hair. 

Clementine lingers, kissing the crimp of flesh, the tender line where thigh meets groin, stirs her nose through the crinkle of hair and musk and kisses again, more, just lips and breath, circling ever closer until finally Violet hooks her knees over Clementine's shoulders and groans, "Clem, please. Clit. Now."

Clementine presses her tongue flat and broad, lapping Violet's folds. She kisses open-mouthed over Violet's cunt, swirls her tongue and uses her thumb to tug up the hood of Violet's clit, wraps her mouth small and presses her lips to Violet's clit. 

Tugs the clit into her mouth, hard and tender, one long moan of suction as Violet grinds against her face, hands fisted in Clementine's hair, pulling her in, in, and Clementine couldn't escape if she wanted to, face red with effort and Violet's boots digging into the back of her ribs, sweet friction but might leave bruises later, and her robes are stuck to her spine in one long line of sweat and effort and none of that is important right now, not next to making Violet, cum, and cum, long howls unspooling from her lungs as she gasps and groans, "Finger, one finger—" and Clementine obliges. 

One turns to two, slipping in frictionless and slick, and Clementine crooks them just-so, the way Violet likes, and when Violet comes again it's with a bone-grinding intensity that turns Clementine's jaw to jelly, the way Violet grips, but oh—

"Stop, stop," Violet wheezes, breathless, eyes half-lidded, face shining, breasts heaving.

Clementine can't remember being any more in love, gently unlatching herself from Violet's thighs and blotting her face on the comforter. She sits up, stretches her arms in front of her.

Unkinks her spine, breathes in deep through a mouth still full of sex and Violet. Crooks herself around Violet, limbs folded against her angles, all positive and negative space.

"Fuck. That was— fuck." Violet makes a fist, lets it fall limply on the pillow.


End file.
